


A Cut Across Lyra

by WatteauYouDoing



Series: The Summer Triangle [2]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Custom MC, Other, Reader Insert, Spoilers for V's route, Swearing, hitman!MC, reader with a backstory, reader with a personality, slight AU of V's route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatteauYouDoing/pseuds/WatteauYouDoing
Summary: While at Seven's safehouse, you and V have nothing to do but talk and worry. Being an overachiever, you manage to do both at the same time... all the while letting V see a bit more of you than you'd intended.(Set around day 8-9 of V's route.)





	A Cut Across Lyra

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short involving a pretty developed custom MC that I've written about on my tumblr. You can read about them here if you're curious! They're... kind of a snarky, sassy, bad-tempered and thoroughly depressed hitman-for-hire. Basically: a garbage person.
> 
> http://anyway-i-love-vanderwood.tumblr.com/tagged/vega/page/3

“Whenever I close my eyes…” he murmured, tilting his head so his cheek just barely grazed against your shoulder. “I see you – and the drawings I want to make of you. Charcoal, pastel, chalks, graphite, oils, acrylics – I want to capture you in every tone and every imaginable hue. The way your hair falls, the way the light strikes your face, the way your eyes are shaped, the way your clothes…”

V trailed off, his hazy mind giving way to some sense of shame, and then swallowed before finishing his thought. “I want to draw you, Vega. I think your existence in this world should be recorded. You’re beautiful.”

You kept your eyes on the stars, because you felt like if you looked over at him now, sitting next to you by the front door of Seven’s safehouse, you’d be ruined forever. It thrummed in you, your heartbeat, each palpitation warming your body in the cool night air. This heat - you’d felt it before, and it seemed to radiate from you, but… “I’m not your sun, V. Don’t worship me; that kind of love… it’ll lead you astray. I’m not pretty. I’m not pure. Like, I’m not one for this metaphorical _darkness_ and _light_ bullshit, but Rika was right. There’s a demon inside me.”

You placed your hand over your breast, right over your heart, and spoke to the sky more than V himself. It was both easy and painful to admit, every word a knife in the torrent. He should know, even though you didn’t want him to know. He should understand what you were. “I kill. I murder. I steal, I’ve been committing crimes since I was _eight._ Rika’s demon is her identity; I think my demon is the same. I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t do these things. Even if I… quit, found some way to escape this life, I still wouldn’t be the kind of person who treasures people like you. I’m not gentle. Sure, like – I have some standards. But that doesn’t mean I’m good. If it came down to it? I’d kill for you, and I wouldn’t even have the decency to feel bad about it. I’d easily murder if it suited me – should you really want to draw someone like that?”

V hesitated beside you, and you could feel his gaze, examining your profile like he was trying to drink in every curve and line on your face. It made you want to squirm, a little bit – that contemplative stare, the way his lips parted slightly as he watched you. _Fuck._ “It’s so strange to me, how you can say that so bluntly… but yet, everything I know about you… is completely at odds with that. You cared for me. You cared for every member of the RFA. You even – you even… cared for that boy, Ray. I don’t understand. But I – “

He paused, struggling, then squeezed his eyes shut again. “But I want to. I didn’t try to understand Rika; I tried to make her into my canvas, transforming her into what I wanted. But you, I want to understand, I want to know how you think. I want to know your pain. And I – I want to protect you from it. I know you don’t like the things you do. Just like… you say you want to show me a world where I don’t have to sacrifice myself, I want to show you a world without violence.”

A soft laugh, a gentle chuckle, just a few notes in the quiet, cricket-laden air. “…Maybe that’s why… I want to paint you. Maybe, through that, I could approach the core of you, and understand what sort of life has lead you to become what you are.”

_This fucking goddamn charming **asshole.** _ Half of you was furious, and the other half was blitzed from how hot your face has gotten.

How dare he.

How dare he…

“Would that really make you happy?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, the late hour making him honest. Or maybe it was the drugs. Who knew? “Yes. Without a doubt.”

A moment of begrudging thought, then… “Fine, then.” You tried to keep the emotion out of your voice, keep it calm and professional. This was stupid. Ill-advised. Regrettable. But – if it’d keep V out of his own hell? If it’d make him happy, give him hope? You’d sacrifice yourself on the altar of your own misgivings. You’d do this for him, even if you thought he was a moron for wanting you. "I’ll sit still. Draw me.”

He stared at you with widened, surprised eyes, so you told him, point blank, “I told you that you could start a new life, so start it now. Draw me.”

His expression changed entirely, morphing into one of dismay – reservation, and pain. “I… I was just speaking of my fantasies. I can’t make them a reality. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t deserve it; I haven’t resolved things with – “

_“Bullshit,”_ you said, moving so you were in front of him, your knees touching his as you grabbed onto his shoulders. “If you want to do something, start now! Don’t just talk. Don’t just dream. _Act._ What, are you still thinking about how you deserve this? How you want to sacrifice yourself to Rika’s insanity in a desperate attempt to placate her? She’s beyond that! _We’re_ beyond that! There’s no going back. So if you want to draw? _Do it!_ ”

You huffed a bit, surprised at the own energy in your outburst, and – for not the first time this night – he looked shocked. Meeting your eyes in this intimate way was too much, though, so he looked away, biting his lip and offering a petty logistical argument to try to escape from your plea.

“I – I don’t have anything to draw with…”

Without hesitating, you reached into the pocket of your suit pants, taking out a small flip notebook and the pencil you kept there. You went through it – passing through codes, grocery lists, and the crossed out names of people you’d completed hits on – before arriving at a blank page. “Ok, this is tiny and shitty, but whatever. Use this. I don’t care what it looks like. I just want you to do something that you want to do right now.”

You took a breath to steady your nerves. This was self-help. Yeah.

This was all for him.

Just focus on that, on that desire to do anything to save him, and… it won’t be so embarrassing.

“You’re really putting me on the spot right now,” he said, tired voice just a little bit _amused._

“Yeah, well. That’s the kind of person I am. Anyway, get to work, or whatever. Do that artisty thing.”

You wiggled your fingers, and couldn’t help but smile a little bit as that actually got a laugh. Taking the paper and the little pencil you’d offered him, he stared at your face in the bright moonlight, examining you with a keen, exacting eye that made you shiver slightly. _Beautiful,_ he’d called you. You certainly didn’t feel like that fit you, but when he stared at you like that, measuring your face with the stub of graphite…

You sort of…

Felt like… you could understand how he saw you.

It was stupid, how thoroughly this man could render you a disgusting, gooey mess. It didn’t suit your character. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny that electric jolt that sparked over your skin when he touched you, his thumb pressing into your jaw as he tilted your head slightly. “There we go. Don’t move.”

You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to. Your heart had stopped in your chest. It felt like his fingerprints had been burned into your skin, and the intimacy of his lingering touch before he pulled away?

It made you feel like you were drowning in this moment.

Neither of you spoke under that late-summer sky, with the stars shining over you and the trees whispering in the breeze. All you could hear was the soft scratching of V’s pencil – or, no. It was more like, the sound of him drawing had become your entire world. The moon… it felt like it was revealing your sins, and yet, V was taking them in carefully, line-by-line, arranging them on paper so he could understand them…

…And appreciate them.

“You have a scar,” he murmured, and it took you a moment to really process what he’d said. The silence between you had been so sacred that you’d forgotten you could talk at all. But you looked at him from the corner of your eye, the very edge of your vision, and saw that his careful examination had slipped down to the small slice of rugged tissue peeking out of your collar.

You laughed, the sort of laugh that wasn’t amused at all, really – it was just sort of resigned. Bitter. “I have a lot of scars. What else is new?”

V bit his lip, distress stilling his pencil. “I don’t like imagining you getting hurt.”

“I’m the kind of person who gets hurt a lot.”

“Can I… see?”

“What?” you asked, taken off guard, and V seemed somewhat… _shy._

“I always… tried to gloss over Rika’s wounds. I didn’t listen to her seriously, I simply told her she was beautiful as if that would fix everything wrong with her. And – I don’t want to be like that anymore. I don’t want to ignore people’s pain, and treat relationships as if I’m playing pretend. So, if you’d allow me too… could I see them? Properly?”

A pause, then – “I understand if that’s not something you’re comfortable with, though. I know it’s a lot and – “

“No,” you interrupted, raising a hand to touch the first button of your shirt. “It’s okay. I mean, I think Rika was speaking a bit more metaphorically, but I understand the sentiment.”

Damn this man, for having made you understand something as stupid as this.

You started with your tie, loosening the fabric with a single curled finger. It was a bit hard to look at him, so you stared at your lap instead, lowering your gaze to around your knee while you raised your gloved fingers to begin unbuttoning your shirt. You stopped after three, since that was enough to see it – at least, part of it, a jagged line that passed over the little v of your neck and down to the opposite shoulder.

V gasped. You heard something catch in his throat, and to your surprise, you felt his fingers a moment later, his thumb grazing across your moonlight drenched skin. Your mind fizzled, your breath going thin and the world dropping out from beneath you. It was like dropping out of a plane, that jolt, but maybe because you were still in ‘model mode’ you didn’t flinch back. Or – or maybe it was because your eyes had darted up to his face, and to his mouth, and _god_ why was he so cute? Who hated you? Who had done this to you?

V was too upset to notice you staring. “Vega… this could have _killed_ you! How did it happen?...”

“Guy tried to do that, y’know, sneaky thing where you get behind someone and slit their throat.” It came out without you intending too – casually, irreverently, just a calm discussion of your own possible death. “I fucked him up, though. Don’t feel bad, I kind of deserved it. Killed his mom.”

“I… see,” V said slowly, his voice crackled like glass. He didn’t pull back though, just running the pad of his finger up and down the line, stopping where it continued under your shirt. It tingled against your skin, and you swallowed, moving your hands down to the next button without really meaning to.

You undid it, then the next, and V watched the fabric fall away from your chest.

“Vega,” he said softly. “How many times… have you almost died?”

“A lot,” you said, and V’s hand dipped lower. A stab wound by your heart, an old bullet wound in your side, a laceration against your stomach, carved across the muscles there… he felt them, one by one, his expression solemn, pained. You shrugged the shirt off, looking down at him. Neither of you knew what to say.

“…I deserved them all, V,” you whispered, feeling vulnerable, and almost like you wanted to take this entire conversation back. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I don’t care whether you deserved them or not. Each one of those – they represent chances I might have never had to meet you. I’m…”

His hands settled on your sides, making you wonder if he was at all cognizant of how _close_ the two of you were right now, and how nice it felt to have him touch you. “I’m not ignoring what you’ve done. I’m not – trying to romanticize it, either. I’m done with things like that. But _you’ve had such a profound effect on my life_ , _Vega._ Without you, I think… I might as well be dead, because I was so hollow and _empty._ I don’t think I can ignore that.”

His eyes were so blue, his hair a strange color that reminded you of a frothy, sunlit sea. You could see his intensity, his desire, and in that moment? You could have kissed him.

But for a lot of reasons, you didn’t, and as you told yourself that he was a deluded fool and that you were a miserable hypocritical bastard, you pulled away. If he kept touching you so tenderly, who knows what you’d do. It was all the drugs, honestly. And desperation. Once he got out of this situation…

He’d move on. Forget all about you – like he should.

 “...I’m glad I could be here for you, V. Despite everything, I’m happy that I met you, too.”

He smiled, yet it was timid, his hand raised to the back of his head to rub it in embarrassment. Maybe it’d been hearing you say it, or maybe he realized how… uh, _handsy_ he’d gotten moments before, but either way, he didn’t complain when you slipped your shirt back on again and hid your injury mottled skin. You told yourself you’d be able to forget what had just happened as soon as you had the fabric weighing you down, but you knew that was a lie.

You were very, very good at lying to yourself.

“We, ah… should probably go inside. I’m sure Luciel is concerned.”

“Yeah, um…” You cleared your throat. Your eyes fell down to the pad of paper he’d set on his leg, and – _damn._ He drew that? Fuck, he was good. It looked just like you, except less of a wretched mess. “Feel free to keep that, just – don’t… get too curious about any of the stuff I have in there, eh?”

V shook his head then, flipping it closed and placing it on your knee. “I’d rather you kept it, honestly. As… a reminder. That you’ve done some good in the world.

“Right,” you said, shoving it in your pants pocket as you stood. “Right, yeah. Sure. Uh. Let’s get your ass into bed; you’re still hurt, after all.”

You heaved V up, easing him into a stand, and then opened the door for him, helping him into the hazy light of the cabin. You didn’t think about the way he’d looked just then, his eyes shining with something rare and precious. You didn’t think about how good he looked in the starlight. And you, most certainly, didn’t think about the drawing he’d done of you burning a hole in your pocket, like a radiant talisman blessed with the warmth of the sun.

You didn’t think about it, not once, as you tried to reduce the world to the hazy, dull hum you'd become so familiar with.

* * *

 


End file.
